Killer Hearts
by CelestialDeath
Summary: Six months after the Joker's defeat a new killer stalks the streets of Gotham. Still a wanted fugitive, Batman's only lead is a hunted woman trying to put her demons to rest. Bruce/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Celestial Death:Hello, I am a lover of Batman and have decided to try my hand at it, though I've never written for it before. This idea has been rattling 'round in my head for a few years and I decided, since the new movie is coming out, I'd post it. I decided to try naming each chapter after a different song that seemed appropriate.

"About Her" by Malcolm McLaren

Disclaimer: I own nothing except all original characters.

**Chapter One**

About Her

'It's nine o'clock in Gotham City and criminals roam the streets; do you know where your vigilante is?' Bruce Wayne thinks as he weaves through the mingling crowds of Gotham's upper class. Pretending to drink champagne while making small talk isn't his idea of a night well spent. But, he's willing to put off patrolling for an hour or two if it means meeting the elusive novelist S. Blue; prime lead in a series of killings.

Three months after the Joker's capture and Batman's demotion to public enemy number one a string of murders began appearing throughout the US baffling local and federal law enforcement. Unrelated victims of different races, ages, genders, and religions were murdered in different parts of the country at varying intervals of time in a range of people. If not for the unique calling card left behind by the killer the police wouldn't know the murders were related. Like most serial killers there is an element of ritual to the slaying. In this case, a regular bicycle playing card is fit with a steel edge, used to murder the intended victim, then placed on the body. Starting with the ace the killer moves up through the different suits of cards until reaching the king. Then the next suit begins.

Bruce kept tabs on the case as another three months passed until last night, when a woman was murdered in Gotham. The king of spades was found on her body bringing the total number of victims to thirty-nine. Focusing his attention on the new threat in his city something about the murders was irritatingly familiar to Bruce, but he couldn't find any previous cases with a similar M.O. He considered the possibility of another clown inspired copycat since the Joker's arrest six months ago, because of the joker playing card as his signature. After carefully hacking into the FBI database to copy all of the information regarding the case, he knew it wasn't a Joker imitation. Confident in his abilities the killer entered a small clinic, murdering everyone inside, but a security camera managed to get a fuzzy ten second recording before it was destroyed.

"_**I walk the path of becoming. Taking the steps to ascension I surpass the lesser beings. There the Goddess of Creation gives life to the Suicide King and I shall be reborn,"**_ the killer announced in a fervent raspy drawl, just out of sight from the camera. A body hit the floor as he appeared on screen. There's a brief image of his head, but the face is covered by an odd hat made of wrapping paper and bows that comes down below his chin. A scream erupts just as the camera is destroyed.

The name Suicide King sparked with recognition in Bruce's mind earlier that day as he worked in the temporary Batcave beneath a Wayne Enterprises construction site.

"The Goddess of Creation shall give birth to the Suicide King and I shall be transformed," Bruce muttered, starting a search through the case file for any other mention of the name.

"The Suicide King?" Alfred asked, stepping off the elevator. "Isn't that the king of hearts playing card?"

"Yes. It earned the name because the king of hearts is stabbing himself in the head."

"Certainly paints a gruesome image of romance," Alfred said looking at the screen. "Writing a love letter?"

"Not exactly," Bruce chuckled, turning to his companion. "A new killer in Gotham was recorded saying this in Minneapolis. He finished spades last night with the murder of Felicia Talbot and I'm hoping to catch him before he has a chance to start the final suite of cards; hearts."

"I don't suppose it could mean the killer is going to commit suicide with the king once he's finished?"

Bruce gives Alfred a pointed look before turning back to the screen.

"Course not. That would almost make sense," the Englishman mutters, casting a rueful glance at his employer.

"I'm missing something, Alfred, but I don't know what. The Suicide King has to have another meaning."

"Perhaps a break will help clear your head," the butler suggested holding up an envelope, "Bruce Wayne has been invited to a party tonight held in honor of S. Blue's latest novel."

Pushing away from the computer Bruce walked towards the bat suit, hardly listening.

"A break might give me a new perspective. I'll patrol and come back to—" a pause. "Did you say S. Blue?" He asked turning back to Alfred.

"Yes, that fiction author you're fond of who likes to write about…" Alfred trailed off, looking up sharply.

"Serial killers," Bruce finished. "She creates serial killers and one of her most notorious is the Suicide King."

"I'll just RSVP to the party, then."

Stalking back to the computer Bruce began new searches for any information on S. Blue and her novel.

"That's why it was so familiar," he said reading the screen. "The FBI contacted her last week after the recording was made. They questioned her for hours and she voluntarily took a polygraph test. It came back negative, but it's not impossible to beat the machine. They decided she was uninvolved, but haven't crossed her off as a potential suspect. She writes under the penname S. Blue, real name Sophia Cross, never had any problems with the police. Hmm, that's odd."

"What is, Sir?" Alfred asked as he turned to his frowning employer.

"The killer, this would be Suicide King, is obviously obsessed with her work but he's made no effort to contact her. It's possible that she wouldn't receive anything personally because of the variation on her name, but her editor gets fan mail. Why go to such lengths to emulate a character but ignore its creator?"

"You think she's involved?"

A nod. "S. Blue knows the story better than anyone. After watching the tape it's doubtful that she's actually committing the murders, but she could be an accessory. Or she could have orchestrated the entire thing. Once the press gets a copy of that tape this will be an even bigger media frenzy than it already is. It's a good way to create publicity," Bruce replied walking toward the elevator. "Once I meet her I'll be able to get a better read on the situation."

"I take it Miss. Blue is going to be the newest recipient of Bruce Wayne's playboy persona?" Alfred asked falling into step beside the younger man.

"Thought it would be better to start with that rather than Batman. It might seem a little suspicious if he showed up at a party to flirt with the guest of honor."

"Just a bit," Alfred agreed with a smile, the lights shutting off behind them.

Now, hours later, he searches the crowd for the lady in question. Without a photo or physical description of S. Blue he's forced to keep an ear open for any mention of her name, hoping it will lead him to her. Passing a small group, he pauses, the conversation catching his attention.

"I find her insistence of humanizing the villains of her books repugnant morally and intellectually," a middle-aged woman states, voice heavy with condemnation. "Creating sympathetic back story for serial killers and murderers shows how inexperienced with the world the author really is. Goodness! Does she honestly expect us to believe those people are any better than wild animals?"

"I suppose you think they should be put down like wild animals too," a woman interrupts, drawing Bruce's focus. "The author isn't trying to generate a false sense of sympathy for serial killers. In her books she's trying to make, at least, two points. First, that serial killers aren't born that way. They start out screaming and slimy just like everybody else. It seems, more often than not, that something happens, usually a traumatic event, that causes them to become removed from standard society. Secondly, not everyone that murders is evil. The author is trying to show that sometimes murder is justified."

"How can you claim murder is justified?" Bruce demands before he can stop himself.

The woman turns, blue eyes focusing on him as she quirks an eyebrow. "I'm saying some murder is justified. If somebody raped your wife or daughter wouldn't you feel taking that person's life was an act of justice?"

"You can't pick and choose like that," Bruce argues. "It's a matter of right and wrong, and murder is wrong."

"Of course it's wrong, but that isn't the question," she replies, diving into the topic. "It's whether or not murder can be justified. No matter how legitimate a person's justification for killing is, it's still murder. And that person should be held accountable. But, there is a difference between killing an innocent and killing as justice."

"Justification is a state of mind," he counters. "Anyone can form a mentality that rationalizes the act of murder, and hide behind the claim of justice. But that doesn't make it so."

"The world isn't black and white," she says with a smile. "Life is more slippery than that. But, you have a point; people are able to rationalize anything. Humanity's ability to delude themselves is astounding."

"That's not quiet what I meant, but you've got the right idea," Bruce answers returning the smile. Noticing the group migrated during the exchange leaving them alone he holds out a hand saying, "Bruce Wayne."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne," she says shaking his hand, "though I think it's only fair to warn you I'm probably not what you're looking for."

"What I'm looking for?" Bruce echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, your reputation precedes you Mr. Wayne and…" she trails of with a shrug holding up her left hand, revealing a simple garnet wedding ring.

"Oh, I see," he says with a laugh. "How long have you been married?"

Eyes softening she looks down at the ring with affection. "I got married eight years ago."

Bruce notices the sad edge to her voice as she rubs a thumb against the ring. He's curious at the drop in her mood, but doesn't ask. She can't be older than him, probably marrying at a young age with a few regrets. The tinge of disappointment he feels at that thought surprises him. She's attractive, tan skin and dark hair offset by sharp icy blue eyes, but not the most stunning woman he's ever seen. Still, he's here for a reason. Giving himself a mental shake, Bruce pulls his errant thoughts away from the woman before him.

"You seem very familiar with S. Blue's work," Bruce says drawing her attention. "Do you know her?"

She blinks, surprised, before grinning ruefully. "I can't say we've ever been introduced."

"That's a pity," he says scanning the room for any indication of the author, "I was hoping to meet her."

"Oh?" The woman drawls, crossing her arms. "And why's that?"

"What can I say," Bruce tells her with a wink, "my reputation precedes me."

She laughs, a low warm sound that brings a sincere smile to his lips. Tipping her head she stares at Bruce trying to tell if he's serious. He stares back, amused by her scrutiny.

"Did you really come just to meet S. Blue?"

"Yes," he replies, wiggling his eyebrows. His smile widens as a loud surprised laugh escapes her. Eyes wide, she clamps a hand over her mouth muffling her giggles. "Didn't expect me to be honest about it, did you?"

"No, I didn't," she confirms with a grin offering her hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, please," he says warmly, taking her hand. "And the pleasure was all mine, Mrs.?"

"Kitten, oh my goodness, there you are!" A loud voice interrupts as a man throws an arm around the woman. "I have been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been hiding?"

"I've been talking with Mr. Wayne," she says nodding to him.

"Mr. Wayne?" the man asks turning to Bruce. Eyes widening, a hand flutters between his chest and reaching for Bruce as he gapes. "Sweet Buddha, you're Bruce Wayne."

"Last time I checked," Bruce says, fake smile back in place as he eyes the other man. Thrilled chocolate eyes stare at him from behind rectangular plastic frames while even white teeth gleam against hazel skin as the man laughs.

"I'm sorry, just a little blinded by your fabulousness. I'm Dominic Harper and much as I hate to interrupt whatever it is you kids were talking about, I need to steal her," he says rapidly, grabbing her hand and pulling her away through the crowd.

"Bye," she calls over her shoulder with a wave.

Bruce watches after her for a moment before shaking his head. He's here for a reason. Besides, she's married. With a final lingering look, he steps back into the crowd bumping into someone.

"Excuse me, that was my fault," he says, turning to find a pale pink bow attached to the top of a willowy brunette's head.

"It's fine," she says looking up. Eyes widening in surprise, she grins, "Bruce!"

"Crystal," he says, recognizing the singer from one of his clubs. One of the few friends he'd made since returning to Gotham, her soft-spoken personality belied an amazingly strong singing voice. Though it was the contrast in persona and vocals that originally caught his attention, it was her morbid sense of humor underlying her sweet personality that made them friends.

"I'm surprised to see you here," she says, giving him a hug.

"I could say the same about you. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with Sophie."

"Sophie?" He repeats voice friendly as his mind calculates. "As in S. Blue the author? You know her?"

"Sure," Crystal says with a shrug, "we're best friends"

A mutual friend is a better opening than he could have ever hoped for.

"Would you be willing to introduce us?" Bruce asks. "I'm a real fan of her work."

"Sure, if you want me to but," she says, brow furrowing, "weren't you just talking to her?"

Pausing, Bruce looks behind him scanning for the woman he had been talking with. "That was S. Blue?"

"Yeah. I was on my way over to join her when Dominic, her editor, grabbed her."

Jaw clenching in frustration, Bruce bites back a growl. He'd had her and he didn't even know it! Damn it. After the romantic implications he made it'll be a nightmare trying to get close. The plan will have to be reworked.

"Hey Bruce," Crystal says, drawing his attention, "you didn't have any ulterior motives towards Sophie, did you?"

"Don't worry Crystal," he says brushing off the question, "I don't date married women."

"That's reassuring to know, Bruce, but Sophie isn't married," she replies bemused.

"What do you mean she isn't married?" He asks, focusing on her. "I saw her ring. She's been married for eight years."

"Eight years sounds about right for when she got married, but her husband died five years ago."

"She's a widow," Bruce says, eyes narrowing.

"I thought you knew and that's why you were interested in her," Crystal says frowning.

"I had no idea."

She'd lied about being married, and purposely kept her identity a secret. Sophie Blue certainly wasn't acting like an innocent woman with nothing to hide. Now, where did she go?

"Bruce," Crystal says, once again getting his attention. "I know you're both adults and you're going to do what your going to do, but Sophie isn't like the women that you normally date. If that _is _the reason for your interest, then your intentions better be noble."

"I understand, but you can relax," he replies, face softening. "I don't have any plans to ask your friend for a date."

'I don't normally date women suspected of murder,' Bruce thinks, watching Crystal. 'Though I've only known her for a year, Crystal isn't a bad judge of character. Is it really possible her best friend could be involved with the Suicide King without her knowing? Most serial killers _**are**_ adept at hiding the truth from the people that love them.' Eyes taking on a steely glint Bruce turns to the front of the room as Dominic Harper draws the attention of the crowd, Sophie at his side.

"Excuse me; can I have your attention, please?" He calls unsuccessfully. "Ladies and gentlemen could I have your attention."

Face contorting into a scowl he draws a deep breath bellowing harshly, "I'm **talking** damn it!"

Smoothing a hand down his designer suit, Dominic ignores Sophie shaking with suppressed laughter in the awkward silence, smiling demurely at his audience.

"Hello lovelies, is everyone having a good time? Yes? Wonderful. As you know, we're all here to celebrate the second installment to the lovely S. Blue's assassin trilogy. I'm sure everyone is excited to find out what happens in the will they, won't they love affair of our favorite killer for hire and the wooing of his reluctant lady love! The book will be available in stores everywhere next month, but as a treat, since we love you, everyone is getting a signed copy tonight. We hope you enjoy the book, and if you don't like the book keep it to yourself!" He jokes as the audience laughs.

Bruce chuckles politely eyes never leaving Sophie. During Dominic's speech she smiles brightly, alternating between watching the man beside her and scanning the crowd. Her eyes land on Bruce, startled by the intensity of his stare. His eyes narrow slightly, and she knows that he's learned the truth of her deception and isn't pleased. Chin tipping up slightly in silent defiance, Sophie's ire rises at his obvious disapproval. Eyes sparking in a clash of wills, she almost misses Dominic's announcement.

"And now we'll have a few words from our darling S. Blue," he says drawing the audience's attention to her.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming," she announces smoothly, tearing her eyes from Bruce. A polished mask of polite friendliness appears as she continues. "Hopefully everyone enjoys the book. I really appreciate the support given to me. Thank you all."

As the applause die down Bruce makes his way towards her, hesitating on the edge of the crowd gathered around her. Refusing to fall under the spell of her infectious smile and warm laugh, Bruce maintains a look of bored interest on his face, while inside he watches her every move. Sophie's eyes land on him, brow furrowing for a moment before smoothing out, her attention drifting to another. Every so often her eyes flicker back to Bruce, making sure she keeps the seemingly unconcerned, but ever present man where she can see him.

The rest of the party passes quickly after that. Bruce keeps an eye on Sophie, tracking her about the room, looking for any opportunity to catch her alone. Aware of his presence she keeps to large groups, noticing as she mingles that he always drifts nearby, but makes no attempt to engage her. By eleven o'clock the party is winding down, and it's clear she has no intention of being near him again tonight. He could swoop in and catch her by surprise, but it isn't worth the risk of causing a scene. Better to regroup and try a different tactic when she isn't on guard. Decided, Bruce leaves the party. His time would be better spent patrolling as Batman.

High above the traffic of Gotham a dark figure perches among the stone gargoyles of a large cathedral as old as the city. The sound of voices over the police dispatch he's hacked fade to half noticed background noise as his mind turns over the facts of the Suicide King case, looking for any hint of a lead. He'd read over the book after making the connection between S. Blue's novel and the Suicide King marking every passage involving a murder. So far, the killer has been following the main pattern of the story, matching the character kill for kill. If the pattern remains true to form, then the Suicide King should still be in Gotham City, as he made two kills in the novel. It will be three weeks until the next murder is supposed to take place starting the final suit of hearts. It's a small window of opportunity, but Batman fully intends to find the Suicide King before he has the opportunity to kill his next victim.

"All units, there's a reported homicide at Two-fifteen Calumet Avenue, in the women's bathroom at train platform Seven-ten," the dispatcher's voice crackles in his ear, "a woman has been found with her throat slashed and a playing card on her person. Respond."

Jumping from the ledge, Batman plunges through the cold night, shooting a grappling hook at the building across from him. Gliding through the air, a dark shadow against the buildings, he swings to the train platform a few blocks from the cathedral. Luck on his side, he beats the police, slipping unnoticed past the security guards as they try to keep the crowd of interested pedestrians back. Time against him, the screaming sound of sirens already growing closer, Batman searches the dirty bathroom for clues.

The body of the young brunette lays sprawled in the last stall, legs curled beneath her, one arm stretched across the toilet, head placed gently on the seat as the dark river of her blood spills into the bowl diluting in the water to a wispy pink. A quick search of her person comes up clean, no evidence left behind by the killer except the ace of hearts playing card with the telltale steel rim inserted between her teeth. Carefully prying open her mouth Batman removes the playing card, quickly sweeping it for prints. Nothing. Once again the Suicide King was meticulous in leaving behind a crime scene spotless of any incriminating evidence that could lead back to him.

Saying a silent apology, Batman starts to slip the card back into her mouth, knowing he must leave before the police arrive. A flash of white against the red of her cheek inside her mouth catches his attention and he pulls the card back out, using tweezers to carefully remove the small object wedged between her back molars. The tip of a white latex glove he realizes after a moment, carefully bagging and pocketing the piece of evidence in his utility belt. Returning the card to her mouth, he looks down at the young woman with pity. She had been brave enough to bite her attacker. 'Good girl,' he thinks slipping out of the stall and stealing into the shadows outside of the bathroom just as uniformed police officers break through the security guards perimeter.

Outside racing down the highway on the batpod on his way back to the temporary Batcave, Batman knows several things for certain with this new kill. The tip of a latex glove pulled from the victim combined with the cleanliness of the crime scenes indicates the Suicide King has some experience in forensics or criminal investigation. Sophia Cross, AKA S. Blue, can't be the killer. Rigor mortis has already set into the body, meaning the young woman has been dead for three to four hours, and he'd been watching Sophia at the party during that time. Most worrisome of all, however, is the murder of the young women itself. Up until this point the Suicide King was following the pattern written in Sophia's novel, but now he's strayed from that path. Has the killer entered a new level of his psychotic ritual, or is there another person capitalizing on his M.O.?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Sophie, Crystal, Dominic, and the Suicide King.

"Got My Mind Set On You" by George Harrison.

**Chapter Two**

Got My Mind Set On You

A week after meeting Sophia Cross, also known as the novelist S. Blue, and the discovery of the Suicide King's second victim in Gotham, Bruce is more than a little frustrated at his inability to contact the elusive author. Her government records still list her at an address in Michigan, since she recently moved to Gotham. All of his searches through databases for cell phones, electricity, water and other utilities lead to dead ends. Either she had yet to find an apartment, or the bills were under another person's name. Perhaps the man known to the police as the Suicide King? Bruce spent several nights doing surveillance, accepting Alfred's help to watch Dominic Harper, Sophia's editor, and Crystal. The billionaire tried to charm information on Sophie out of their mutual friend when she was singing at a club he owns.

Crystal shook her head with an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, Bruce, but she asked me not to give out her information to anyone. And," she added narrowing her eyes suspiciously, "Sophie specifically requested that Bruce Wayne not be given that information under any circumstances."

Grinning sheepishly with all the charisma of a naughty young boy Bruce replied, "I may have made the mistake of expressing an interest in Sophie, as a joke, before I realized who she was. I'd like a chance to make amends for our misunderstanding."

Laughing, Crystal patted him on the shoulder, "I'll talk to her."

Dominic was a dead end too, even with the use of Bruce Wayne's allure despite the man's obvious weakness for it. They met two days after the party in the editor's office.

Taking in the glistening contrast of chrome fixtures and warm colors decorating the sizeable room overlooking the city landscape below Bruce shook hands with the editor, flashing his patented playboy smile as he said, "I really appreciate you seeing me on such short notice Mr. Harper."

"Oh, call me Dominic," the other man purred with a coy smile. "Have a seat, Mr. Wayne."

"Feel free to call me Bruce," he assured, taking the other man's flirtation in stride. "This may be an odd request, but I was wondering if you could help me contact the author S. Blue. I'm a fan of her work and we talked for a bit at the book party, but I'm afraid you pulled her away before I had the chance to exchange information."

Dominic sighed, breezy and dramatic, "I'm sorry, Bruce, much as I would love to help you out, I'm afraid I just can't give you that information. I have to protect the privacy of my authors, and she specifically asked that I don't give it to you."

"I see. Are you sure you can't make an exception. I don't mean her any harm, I'd just like the opportunity to get to clear up a misconception we seemed to have."

Dominic shook his head with a sympathetic smile, "Believe me, if it was up to me, you would. But, despite my advice that it's not every day a man as deliciously gorgeous as yourself comes along and she should jump you while she has the opportunity, she won't listen. Sorry," a shrug, "there's nothing I can do. If she changes her mind I'll let you know, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

Presently, Bruce, on his way home from a meeting, once again reads over the information he's collected on Sophia Cross, going over it aloud from the back seat of a town car as Alfred expertly navigates Gotham traffic.

"Sophia Marie Cross: age twenty-eight, born May sixteenth, the youngest of three children, brown hair, blue eyes, five foot ten, both parents are still alive. Mother is a retired kindergarten teacher, her father a small town judge. Looking at her parent's financial records, it was a lower middle class home. She was born and raised in Michigan, except for a short period when she lived here attending Gotham University. Graduated with honors in three years with a four-year bachelor's degree in English with a minor in psychology," Bruce recites. Looking up from his laptop his eyes catch Alfred's in the rearview mirror, "I know she was married eight years ago and her husband died, but all records of her time in Gotham outside of school were destroyed like dozens of other people in the Joker's attack on the city. I hate to exploit my friendship with Crystal, but it looks like she's the best lead to Sophia that I have."

"You never did tell me, Sir, how Miss. Crystal is involved," Alfred says, as he directs the car around a corner.

"They're childhood friends. Crystal calls her 'Sophie'," he replies absently, searching through the files.

"I thought as much," the butler replies pulling over to park in front of a store. "If you would please follow me, Master Bruce."

"What is this?" he asks perplexed, looking at the building in front of him as Alfred opens the car door. "The Purple Zebra? Alfred?"

"This way," the older man replies entering the building, his charge trailing after, curiosity peaked.

Stepping into the shop Bruce is immediately hit by a wave of fresh smelling bakery. Tables and booths litter the room, a few occupied by happily eating people, as Alfred goes to a long lunch counter attached to a glass case proudly displaying beautiful works of culinary masterpieces in dessert. Following the other man's lead Bruce settles onto a barstool next to the butler at the counter. Eyes roving over the room taking in the bright cheerful atmosphere he blinks in surprise as a familiar face places a menu on the counter before him.

"Hey Bruce," Crystal says with a smile, "you finally decide to join Alfred?"

"I guess," he says, hesitantly returning her smile. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my bakery!" she announces with a delighted laugh. "Alfred didn't tell you?"

"I thought it would make for a better surprise," the butler chimed in, amused by his employer's exasperated glare. "One I'm sure you'll find very pleasant, Master Bruce."

"Hey, is that Alfred I hear?" A woman calls from the kitchen.

Eyes widening in disbelief, Bruce turns his head to find Sophia Cross entering from the kitchen in an apron, t-shirt and jeans, hair swept up into a bun. She doesn't notice Bruce at first, focused on Alfred, and he watches her face glow in friendly delight for the older man.

"Hello Miss. Sophia," Alfred says, eyes dancing with laughter.

"Just Sophie, please Alfred," she admonishes, noticing the person next to him. "Oh, who's your frien…_**oh, him.**_" Voice dropping to an icy pitch her face darkens as she recognizes Bruce.

"I believe you've met Master Wayne," Alfred says smoothly, winking at Crystal as she bites her lip to smother a laugh.

"Alfred, how could you?" Sophie admonishes, glaring at Bruce accusingly.

"I apologize, Miss, but it's better to deal with the situation rather than ignore it," Alfred replies kindly. "Surely you understand my duty to Master Wayne and would never ask me to betray his trust by deceiving him."

He gives her a pointed look as she shakes her head moving from her tensed attack stance.

"You certainly make it difficult to hold a grudge," Sophie says with a sigh, handing Alfred a cup of tea.

"Now that that's settled," Bruce interjects with a smile, "maybe you can answer a question for me."

Scowling, Sophie rounds on Bruce. "To be clear, just because I've forgiven Alfred doesn't mean I don't hold you entirely responsible."

"I guess that means we aren't friends," he jokes.

"We aren't even acquaintances."

"Come on, I thought we were at least that. You gave me misleading information about your identity and I—"

"Told me you wanted to get into my pants," Sophie interrupts with a snarl.

"You assumed that's what I wanted based on my reputation and I didn't feel the need to dissuade you," Bruce defends, turning serious.

"Why would you do that if it wasn't your intention?"

"People believe what they want," he says tersely, meeting her glare with his. "I didn't see the point in trying to dissuade a total stranger who already made up her mind about my character based on my name."

A tense silence as everyone else in the café sneaks glances at the scowling pair staring each other down. Clenching her jaw, Sophie folds her arms and nods.

"Okay," she says voice edgy but firm, "I can't argue with that."

Smiling, Bruce relaxes, ready to start smoothing things over.

"But," she interrupts before he can speak, "that doesn't explain why you've been making such a stalker-ish attempt to find me."

"I'm interested in your books," he says with a shrug. "I enjoyed our conversation at the party, for the most part, and after the mix-up I wanted to set things straight."

"Why go to all this trouble when you could have had Dominic or Crystal pass the message to me?"

"I didn't think it was anyone else's business," Bruce says, a corner of his mouth lifting as he looks pointedly around the café.

"Ah," Sophie says awkwardly, glancing at their audience, "sorry."

"It's okay," he replies easily, "I'm aware of the effect my reputation has."

"That's all you wanted?" she asks, watching him with lingering suspicions.

"Well, I was hoping we could be friends," Bruce admits, leaning on the counter.

"Friends," she scoffs.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Leaning towards him with a skeptical smile she asks dubiously, "What woman is _**just**_ friends with Bruce Wayne?"

"I am!" Crystal chirps, putting a cup of coffee and a fresh orange cranberry muffin in front of Bruce. "Here, I think you'll like this one."

Smiling brightly, she pats her crimson-faced friend on the arm, ignoring Bruce's loud roar of laughter as she enters the kitchen.

"Well," Sophie says after a moment, looking at anything but him. "With that lovely ego boost I'm going to go back to cooking."

"Wait!" Bruce calls, chuckles dieing down. "It wasn't that bad."

Grinning at her look of obvious disbelief he bites back another bubble of laughter.

"What I mean is, you kind of had that coming. But—" he continues when she goes to interrupt, "now that we've both made fools of ourselves maybe we can start over as friends and try to get to know each other before we make a bigger mess of things."

Pursing her lips Sophie frowns, contemplating his offer. Wary of his reputation, she doesn't want to be listed as the latest in the long line of ladies that got a notch on his bedpost, whether it's true or not. Still, he hasn't tried anything, and he's certainly sharper than people give him credit for. Would it really be so bad giving Bruce Wayne a chance? The itch between her shoulder blades tells her Crystal is staring from the kitchen doorway, silently urging her on. There's no way Bruce would get her friend's seal of approval if he was as lascivious as the media made him out to be. Dominic would encourage her to throw caution to the wind and have a fling, but not Crystal. Looking up, Sophie glances at Alfred who gives her an imperceptible nod. Making her decision she turns her attention to Bruce.

"Okay," she says with a sigh.

"Really?" he asks. After such a lengthy pause he thought she'd reject his offer and had already started planning his next move.

"Yeah, well, Crystal trusts you and Alfred's on your side," a shrug. "Who am I to go against Alfred?"

"I think that's a compliment," Bruce says wryly, glancing at the butler as he innocently peruses the menu.

"So, how do you intend for this friend thing to work?" Sophie asks, "Because I've never made a friend this way before."

"Dinner?" Bruce suggests after a moment. Face stony she raises an eyebrow as he backtracks. "Maybe lunch would be better?"

"Yeah," she agrees, "more friendly less date-like."

"When are you free?"

"I'm free this afternoon," Sophie says, leaning against the counter.

"You want to have lunch today?" Bruce asks, surprised.

"Well, this is a bakery, and you're already here." A shrug. "We can play twenty questions while I bake, and if things get out of hand Alfred and Crystal are here to referee."

"I won't be in the way?" he questions, glancing at Crystal.

"Your fine," she assures with a smile. "There's a stool in the corner for people to use when they visit.

He turns to Alfred. "You don't mind?"

"It would be my pleasure to spend the afternoon in such pleasant company, Sir," the older man assures warmly.

"Alright," Bruce says turning to Sophie, "I'm all yours."

* * *

"Come on," Sophie says in disbelief, two hours later as she rolls dough for cookies, "_**you**_ do martial arts."

"I promise," Bruce says, pleased by how well they're getting along. "I've studied for years."

"Really? Or are you just messing with me?"

"Is it _that_ hard to believe?" He asks, rolling his eyes as she smirks.

"You don't really strike me as the physical activity type."

"I suppose I strike you as the pampered type."

"The pampered pretty boy, yes. But, I suppose you have to stay trim somehow."

"Flattering as that is, I'd like to point out that I do a lot of extreme sports."

Putting down the rolling pin Sophie leans against the counter facing Bruce, "Such as?"

'Jumping off skyscrapers' he thinks, "Base jumping."

"Huh," she replies after a moment, shaking her head, "I never would have guessed."

"Business meetings don't really keep you…trim," he says, smiling when she grins. "What about you?"

"I've picked up all sorts of things in the last few years, mainly self-defense, nothing advanced. Where'd you go to school if you learned stuff like that?"

"I studied at a lot of places," he says easily, an image of Rha's Al Ghul flashing in his head. "What about you?'

"Gotham University. I moved to the city from a little town in Upper Michigan."

"Is that where your family lives?"

"My parents and my sister," she says, placing a tray of cookies in the oven.

"Do you have a big family?" Bruce asks, already knowing the answer.

"One older brother and an older sister."

"Are you close?"

"We kind of are," she says hesitantly, laughing at his questioning look. "We keep in touch and live our separate lives, but we always go home for Christmas, and there's the feeling that they'll be here if I ever need them."

"That's nice," he says, noting the obvious affection in her voice. Could her brother be the Suicide King? A sibling bond could be enough for her to protect an already disturbed brother.

"You're first big break was The Suicide King, wasn't it?" Bruce asks after a moment, watching her intently behind his casual façade.

"Yes, I expanded on a short story I'd written in high school," she replies carefully.

"I enjoyed reading it. It must have been hard making a nameless, faceless killer without accidentally giving details away."

"That's why there's an editing process," she quips.

"I suppose," he agrees with a chuckle, "but your psychopath manages to pull people in like a car accident. It's horrible but you can't look away. How did you manage to make such a realistic serial killer?"

"I'm just sick I guess," Sophie says with a faint edge of irritation.

"I've been hearing about that book a lot lately. It's not part of the trilogy you're working on, is it?" Bruce asks in an absentminded fashion, pretending to ignore her glare.

"No," Sophie grits out, gripping the counter.

"Really?" He says with a shake of his head, "I'm sure I've heard the Suicide King mentioned in the news off and on for a few months now. Do you have a publicity campaign or something?"

"Anything you've heard about the Suicide King has nothing to do with me," Sophie tells him in a voice like ice.

"Are you sure? Because I could have sworn that—"

"That's enough!" Sophie interrupts with a snarl. "I don't want to talk about this."

Silence in the entire kitchen as the other people working stop and stare at their corner. Eyebrows raised, Bruce takes in her tense, agitated form. Narrowing her eyes in dark meaning, she gives him a murderous look before turning to look at the hesitant staff, hissing, "Mind your own business."

"Look, Sophie, I didn't mean to get you so upset," he says hesitantly, as the noise in the kitchen returns to normal.

"Just drop it, okay?" A moments hesitation as she halfheartedly apologizes, "I shouldn't have yelled like that."

"My fault," Bruce assures, noting the lingering tension in her body. "Is this your first time living in Gotham?"

"No," she says slowly, gaze drifting to the past, "I lived here for five years.

"Why did you move away?" he asks softly, careful not to startle her from the reverie.

"Because my…" she trails off, pain flashing in her face before the mask of calm falls back into place. "Well, life got in the way."

"That's the thing about life," Bruce says casually, "it tends to happen whether you want it to or not."

"Don't I know it," Sophie says, putting a large tray of cookies into an oven.

Minutes pass in silence, save the regular noises of hustle and bustle in the kitchen. Bruce thought about her responses to his questioning. The Suicide King brought anger, potential fear of being exposed as a conspirator with the killer? And talking about her past in Gotham brought pain. Could the events that caused her sadness be related to the murders? Making a mental note to do a more thorough check of police records, Bruce notices Sophie's stopped moving.

Leaning against the counter Sophie stares at Bruce with an odd semi-smile curving her lips. He waits for her to say what's on her mind, raising an eyebrow after several minutes.

"What?"

"You're not a total jackass," she says after a moment, startling a bark of laughter from him as he shakes his head. Her pulse jumps at the sound, the rich, low pitch of his voice anything but unpleasant.

"Sorry to disappoint," he replies grinning.

"I meant you're a better person than I was anticipating, and I'm kind of glad you decided to persist in being friends."

"Careful, I could get the wrong idea and think you might actually like me," Bruce teases.

"Well, we can't have that," she says with a smirk as she rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions and misjudging you, Mr. Wayne."

"I'll forgive you if you call me Bruce."

A shrug. "I don't really care if you forgive me or not…Mr. Wayne."

"Fair enough," Bruce says glancing at his watch. "Unfortunatley, I have to go to another appointment. I'm glad we cleared up our misunderstanding."

"Yeah, I suppose talking to you wasn't as terrible as I imagined."

"More flowery words of praise? I'm not sure my heart can take such heartfelt words of adoration."

"I'll be sure to keep all statements debilitating to your ego in the future," Sophie assures, a genuine smile teasing the corner of her mouth.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I start to feel self-esteem. So, we'll talk again?" Bruce asks as he and Sophie leave the kitchen for the main area of the bakery.

"Meh, why not," she says lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug. "If you ever feel like being insulted feel free to look me up."

"Just insults?" He asks, biting back a smile.

"If you don't get on my nerves I might give you a cookie."

"With an offer like that, how can I stay away?"

* * *

"Alfred, why didn't you tell me you knew Sophie Blue? That would have made my investigation a lot easier," Bruce questions once they're back in the car cruising the streets of Gotham.

"I didn't know, Master Bruce."

"Excuse me?" he asks, brow furrowed I confusion.

"I met Miss. Sophia a few days ago while keeping watch over Miss. Crystal. At the time she was introduced as a childhood friend who occasionally came in to help with the baking at the Purple Zebra. I'd no idea she was the same person until you mentioned Miss. Crystal's connection, and I suspected things were too similar to be coincidence," Alfred explains, smugly adding, "As it turns out, I just happened to be right."

"How well do you know Sophie?" Bruce asks thoughtfully, gears turning in his head.

"She and I spent many pleasant afternoons talking over tea in the past week."

"Would you consider yourself a good judge of her character?"

"I should be able to hazard an educated guess."

"Do you believe she's involved in the Suicide King killings?"

"When we first met I would have said no without hesitation, but now…"Alfred pauses.

"Now?" Bruce prompts after a moment, watching the butler intently.

"Given the information you have from the FBI's case files, as well as her sharp response to your questions, my perception of Miss. Sophia has changed." A sigh. "It is impossible to say what may be lingering under the surface, not unlike you, Sir."

"How so?"

"You hide behind the playboy persona of Bruce Wayne to draw attention away from what resides underneath; the Batman."

"So, what we see is a front for a darker personality. You think she is connected to the Suicide King," Bruce says, frowning.

"Not necessarily, Sir. I believe that what we see is merely a part of the whole Sophia Cross. Like the real Bruce Wayne is somewhere between the playboy and the vigilante, her true self has yet to be revealed," Alfred offers, giving his charge an encouraging smile. "To be perfectly honest, I don't want her to be involved."

'Neither do I', Bruce agrees silently thinking of the enjoyable woman he'd spent the afternoon with.

* * *

Ten o'clock that night wrapped tight in jeans, a leather jacket, and a dark helmet Bruce sits on his motorcycle watching Sophie leave the Purple Zebra and get into a cab. Starting the engine he follows the vehicle as it pulls into traffic, keeping a steady distance of two cars as he follows her to an apartment building close enough to the Narrows to have lower rent but far enough to keep away most of the seedier citizens of Gotham. He watches from down the block as she enters the building, counting to five before running to catch up. Slipping in behind a mother with two bouncing children, he pauses at the mailboxes, pretending to gather his mail while listening to the people inside the elevator.

"Mooooom!" one of the children whines, "I wanna push the button."

"No, no, no! Mommy, Danny always gets to push the button!" his sister cries as their frazzled mother gives the discreetly watching Sophie an apologetic look.

"If you ask this lady very nicely, maybe she'll let you push the button for her floor and then both of you can push a button."

"Mmmm," the little girl hesitates, pressing against her mother's leg as she grips it tightly, "can I push th' button? Please?"

Melting inside, Sophie gives the little girl a warm reassuring smile, "Of course you can, sweetheart," she coos, "number six, please."

Looking up, Sophie notices the dark stranger staring at the elevator. The smile slips from her face as her eyes widen in horror and the doors close.

Behind the dark visor of his helmet, Bruce takes a deep breath. Closing his eyes he wills away the tight feeling in his chest. She had looked…so… He shakes his head. That warm delighted grin, too big for her face and the tender blue eyes so affectionate and inviting, promising peace and understanding. It was the kind of look a man would gladly drown in. Then it disappeared. Though she didn't know it was him, the sight of a dark masked figure gave her a shock. The stunned terror in her eyes told him she assumed he was dangerous. Which raises the question: who did she think he was? Mentally marking the address he leaves. Sophie might be able to avoid answering questions with Bruce Wayne, but she can't avoid the Batman.


	3. Chapter 3

For anyone interested, watch Howl's Moving Castle. Christian Bale does the voice of Howl in the English version and (I'd forgotten this when I named my character) the main character is named Sophie. I found it a great source of inspiration listening to him say "Sophie" and imaging that it's Bruce. Also, the movie is fantastic, as is the book.

I don't have a Beta so forgive the mistakes, and if anyone is interested in being a Beta contact me.

"Goodnight Moon" by Shivaree

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything else except Sophie, the Suicide King, and all original characters.

Chapter Three

Goodnight Moon

The soft whirring hum of machinery carries Bruce down the hidden shaft to the temporary batcave. Running a hand across his face he sighs, leaning against the side of his motorcycle. Things had gone better than expected with Sophia Cross. '_Sophie'_, he corrects himself with the barest hint of a smile; she'd grudgingly allowed him use of the nickname at the insistence of Crystal. He'd have to get the lounge-singing baker something nice. She and Alfred provided an in with Sophie, but it was Crystal's influence that made the writer give him an actual chance. _'Maybe a night on the town for her and her fiancé,'_ he decides. _'She'll need something nice if it turns out Sophie is involved.'_

Ignoring the pang of guilt, Bruce turns his mind back to the case. Sophie reacted very strongly when he'd brought up the Suicide King, and she dodged questions about the past. She lived in Gotham for five years, enough time to become familiar with the city, and if her reason for leaving was something traumatic it could've created a fixation. Why did she choose now to come back to Gotham? It can't be a coincidence that the Suicide King decided to occupy Gotham at the same time. Eyes sparking in epiphany Bruce steps off the platform as Alfred turns from the computer, printout in hand.

"I have the results from the object you found in the second victim's mouth," Alfred informs him. "As you suspected it's the tip from a latex glove. Unfortunately, it was clean of fingerprints or any unaccounted for substances. Also, it's the type of latex glove that you can purchase in more than a dozen stores across the country, favored by scientists, hospitals and the police."

"That's what I expected," Bruce replies looking over the printout. "But, it does reinforce the idea that the Suicide King has some kind of training or connection with law enforcement. His crime scenes are too clean, and that implies knowledge of police procedure."

Leaning over the keyboard at the computer Bruce begins typing in commands. Curious, Alfred reads the screens. Arching an eyebrow he turns to Bruce.

"You have a lead."

"It's slim," Bruce replies with a final press of the keys, watching as lists of names flash across the screen in a blink. "This is a long-shot, really, but it seems likely that the Suicide King is someone who was either rejected from law enforcement or removed. I've set the computer to search through government databases containing that information, selecting men that match the Suicide King's height and build."

"Searching every law enforcement agency in the country for one man, is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Alfred points out with a frown. "The chances of you finding him are nearly impossible."

"I've thought of that," Bruce assures him, "but I doubt I'll have to look that far. The Suicide King has been following Sophie's book for months, traveling from city to city with the safe guarantee that he'll be in another town, maybe another state, by the time his latest victim is discovered and police begin searching for him. But not Gotham. His pattern has changed, focusing on this city. That leaves me with two conclusions; either he's arrogantly overconfident in his abilities, which seems unlikely because of how cautious he is, or he's in familiar territory."

Alfred looks at Bruce sharply with dawning realization and the billionaire nods. Walking across the room to the batsuit rising from the floor he continues explaining.

"Serial killers tend to have a specific area to hunt; a safety zone that they know well and feel comfortable in. That way, they should be able to deal with unexpected situations and feel confidante in their actions. In this case, he was following the pattern set by Sophie's book, so there wasn't a specific area to focus on until he got to the final suit of hearts. Now that he's chosen Gotham as his hunting ground I can safely assume he's spent enough time here to familiarize himself with the city. At some point Gotham was his home, and he's returned for the grand finale leading to the culmination of his work; the rebirth he was talking about."

As he's speaking Bruce puts on the batsuit, fitting pieces into place as Alfred follows his line of reasoning.

"So you've begun your search through the police database for Gotham city," Alfred says. "While that certainly narrows your search, Master Bruce, there are still hundreds of people that could fit the very vague parameters you've set."

"I know," Bruce says, pulling the cowl over his head. "That's why I'm cross referencing the men found in the search with the Suicide King's initial victim, Penny Aldridge, who was killed in Virginia months ago with the ace of diamonds. Another thing common to most serial killers is that the first victim is often someone they know. Fledgling killers tend to look for easy opportunity and grow bolder with experience. I'm checking for any possible connection that anyone on the list of names from Gotham could have with her."

Batman gets the batpod, wheeling it to the platform as Alfred calls out behind him.

"What makes you so certain he's going to stay in Gotham?"

"Because Sophie's here. His fixation on Gotham began when she moved back."

* * *

After a quiet patrol stopping a few muggings and a minor convenience store robbery, Batman decides to speak with Commissioner Gordon. Slipping onto the roof of the building for the Major Crimes Unit Batman easily spots his friend and ally leaning against the edge of the building next to the shattered remains of the once proud bat signal. Unaware of his audience, the older man reads through a file occasionally making notes as something catches his interest.

"Is that about the Suicide King?" Batman asks in a gravelly rasp, watching the other man jump.

"It is," Gordon says once his heart stops racing. Looking around for any potential observers, he steps closer to the shadowed area of the roof, just able to see the outline of his dark companion. "The Fed's are holding out on us, but we've got results from the tests for the first victim, preliminary reports on the second, and we're treating this as a top priority case."

"Have you looked into the connection with Sophia Cross? The killer is imitating her work."

"Actually, she came to see me this morning," Gordon informs him, enjoying knowing something before Batman. "We were discussing some other business when she brought him up. Sophie knew about the first murder in Gotham because it followed the book, but she didn't seem to be aware of the second and I decided not to enlighten her, just yet. Sophie told me about her meeting with the Fed's and offered her full cooperation."

"You knew her before this case," Batman states as Gordon nods. "Do you trust her?"

"Yes. And if you think she's involved with the Suicide King, you're wrong," Gordon tells him without missing a beat. "I think she's caught in the crossfire of some madman's crazed ambition. She might be able to write about it, but Sophie isn't the kind of person who could kill people in cold blood. Especially, since some of the victims are children."

"How can you be sure?"

"Five years ago I had a case in the Narrows during a turf war when a small organization was trying to muscle in on some of Carmine Falcone's territory. Sophie and her husband were bystanders that got caught in the middle. He was killed and she was put into a coma. I discovered that Gambol's men were responsible, but before I could make an arrest and connect it back to him, he paid off the right people. I was forced off the case and it disappeared," shaking his head in disgusted resignation, Gordon's gaze turns to a far away day. "One of the things that's stayed with me is the day I called Sophie to tell her the case was being stopped. I expected anger and blame. Instead, she told me to be careful and protect my family." Shaking himself from the reverie, he looks Batman in the eye, firmly stating, "Sophie isn't involved. She wouldn't have helped to kill those people. And she could never kill children."

"A situation like that could drive a person over the edge. Five years is enough time for grief and unsatisfied revenge to become insanity," Batman points out, voice calm and unwavering. "I want copies of everything you have on the Suicide King, and everything from Sophia's case five years ago. Even if you're right and she isn't involved, it's possible that someone from her past is."

"Her original case file and all of the evidence was lost in the Joker's bombing of MCU. But, I still have my personal notes and some copies of things from the case at home. I'll get them for you."

Satisfied, Batman leaves. Stalking to the edge of the roof he hesitates, dread wriggling in the pit of his stomach. Turning to Gordon he says, "You keep emphasizing the children. What makes you so sure she wouldn't allow them to die?"

Shaking his head with the resignation of a man who's seen too much, he replies, "At the time of the attack, she was nine months pregnant. Her child didn't survive."

* * *

Crouched in the shadows on the ledge outside of Sophie's apartment Batman peers through the window to her bedroom. A shape on the bed sleeps burrowed under the covers warding of the chill of the fall night. Pleased by the advantage, Batman slips tools out of his belt, picking the lock. Better to search the apartment before forcing her awake and catching her off guard; then he'll be able to use any information he finds to keep her rattled. _'Mean,'_ he supposes, as the lock gives a faint click, _'but necessary to discern the lies from the truth.'_ Sliding the window open, movement in the hallway beyond the bedroom door catches his eye. A friend? An intruder? Or the Suicide King? Suspicious, he silently eases his way in.

Glancing at the gentle rise and fall of the covers as the occupant sleeps on, Batman steps from the bedroom in a whisper of shadow. Down the short hallway he peers around the corner at the dark figure crouched next to a small bookshelf. As the person stands Batman grabs the figure in a restraining hold; one arm wraps around the torso pinning them, as his other arm presses tight against their throat, restricting air, forcing their head at a tight upward angle.

"Who are you?" Batman growls.

A terrified gasping scream rattles in his ear as he jerks in surprise. Tightening his hold as the person begins to thrash Batman realizes that, instead of a man the rough shape and size of the Suicide King or a burglar, it's an irate woman struggling against him.

"HEEEELLLP!" the very familiar sound of Sophie's voice trills shrilly in his ear, "Bastard, let go of me! Somebody help!"

Clamping a hand on her mouth Batman forcefully rasps, "I'm not here to hurt you, Ms. Cross. I have questions that you _**will**_ answer about the Suicide King." Angling her head so she can see his masked face, Batman gives her a look that demands obedience but promises no harm. "Understood?"

Eyes saucer wide, Sophie goes still with shock, save a small nod of agreement. Batman slowly loosens his arms to release her when he hears the sound of a body hitting the floor and scrambling steps running towards them. Curling around her, Batman pushes Sophie against the wall protecting her with his body as a large German Shepard lunges out of the darkness with a loud snarl. The dog soars narrowly past, claws scraping the floor as he lands and turns quickly for another attack. With a fierce growling bark the dog lunges again. Pushing her away, Batman pivots, catching the fangs of the dog with his gauntlet, trying to keep it back. Unlike the starved half crazed attack dogs used by the mob, this is an animal trying to protect its home and Batman doesn't feel right using the same amount of force to subdue it. Wrestling the dog onto the floor, one knee pressing it down, a sudden flash of light momentarily blinds him and the dog releases his gauntlet, snapping viciously at any part of Batman it can reach.

"Ritter," Sophie calls in a stunned voice, "it's okay. Stop. Ritter stop! It's okay."

The German Shepard pauses mid-snap, torn between the instinct to protect and his obedient trust in his human. With another fierce growl, he lies still. Batman warily eyes the dog, slowly standing up and stepping back. Ritter stands, quickly putting himself between Batman and Sophie, eyes never shifting from the masked man.

Hand resting absently on the light switch, Sophie watches him in wide-eyed wonder, feeling painfully self-conscious as he looks over her mussed pajama clad state. Her hair is rumpled from the struggle and there are red bands on her skin across her neck and arms where he grabbed her. Smoothing out her black tanktop and silky black pajama pants Sophie gives him a look of flabbergasted dismay.

"What...I mean…you're Batman," she says, words stumbling as she tries to wrap her mind around the situation. "What are you doing here? Why…Why is Batman in my apartment?"

"I want answers about the Suicide King."

"I have nothing to do with that."

"If that's true federal agents wouldn't have questioned you and the police wouldn't have talked to you."

Mouth dropping open, she gapes at him as he stares her down.

Distressed, Sophie half-yells, "I don't know anything about that! Those FBI agents talked to be about my book and my fans, not murder. And as for talking to the police? I went to see Commissioner Gordon voluntarily. I have _**nothing**_ to do with the Suicide King."

"That's hard to believe," Batman rumbles, glaring at her, "you created him."

Scowling, she responds adamant and hot tempered, "I created a character in a book, not some lunatic that can't tell the difference between fact and fiction!"

"Your book has been an instruction manual for this psychopath," Batman accuses her. "He's been matching your character kill for kill. Forty people are dead and now he's loose in Gotham."

Heavy silence falls between them as the color drains from Sophie's face. She stares at him in unguarded horror and he watches the fire in her sapphire gaze flicker and dim. Bruised eyes expose her battered soul. Opening her mouth in a silent cry, words can't make it past the suffocating lump in her throat. Body wilting in defeat, she shakes her head.

"Forty," she croaks, forcing back tears, "I didn't know. I've heard what's been in the news and they don't talk about the cards, let alone what number. I only found out about the connection to my book last week when FBI agents showed up at my door. And they didn't…" a shudder. "They didn't tell me how many people had died."

"I need you to tell me everything you told them," Batman says softly as she collects herself.

"I answered questions about my book, the fans I'd met, things I'd received, and gave the agents copies of my fan-mail. There was a murder in Gotham that matched one in my book. Some of the details they were talking about on the news were just too similar to ignore and I asked Jim Gordon if it was the Suicide King. He said it was, so I told him about my book and Feds. He wants me to call him if anything strange starts happening; people following me, odd correspondence, stuff missing, that sort of thing. He told me to be careful, said it was likely the killer would come after me since he's obsessed with my character."

"Commissioner Gordon is right. The Suicide King's begun to deviate from your story. Instead of leaving one victim in Gotham and moving on to the next location, he's stayed."

Absorbing the news, Sophie throws out her arms with a helpless little laugh. It's simply too much. Shaking her head, she gives Batman an apologetic look.

"I don't know what to tell you. I'm sorry, but I just…I don't know anything."

"The Suicide King hasn't made any contact with you? Nothing has happened recently that struck you as unusual?"

Frowning, she bites her lip in indecision, eventually saying, "Not that I know of."

Picking up on her hesitation Batman asks, "What happened? Even a seemingly obscure detail could be important."

"I'm probably just paranoid, but earlier tonight when I came home someone was watching me as I got on the elevator." Shaking her head, Sophie gives another helpless shrug. "It's nothing. I mean, he was by the mailbox and there was a woman with her kids in the elevator too, he could have been looking at them. It seemed weird that he had a motorcycle helmet on in the building, just standing there staring."

"I'll look into it," Batman assures her, mentally smacking himself as he turns to go. "Until this is over make sure you keep in contact with Gordon."

"I will," she agrees, hesitating a moment before asking, "Aren't you wanted for murder?" He pauses, staring as she flushes pink. Eyes dropping to the floor Sophie blurts out, "I'm sorry. I don't know if I should tell Commissioner Gordon about you, because this definitely falls under something strange or suspicious. On the other hand, you're wanted by the police and mentioning your involvement could really complicate matters. I don't think you mean me any harm, despite the fact that you broke into my home in the middle of the night and attacked me. But, Gordon might not feel the same way."

Flustered ramble trailing off, Sophie waits for him to say something. Embarrassment growing as the silence drags out she looks up, only to find him gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Sophie and all original characters.

"Mr. Rock & Roll" by Amy Macdonald.

Chapter Four

Mr. Rock & Roll

Just past noon an exhausted Sophie wakes to a loud thumping. Fumbling she reaches for the TV remote, shutting off the chatter as she buries her head deeper into the couch cushion. After Batman's surprise visit she stayed awake for hours, finally drifting off watching mid-morning television. Slipping back towards the land of sweet slumber, her eyes flutter open as she hears another round of knocks followed by a muffled "Sophie?"

"Nnnnngh…no. I'm sleeping. Let me go back to sleeeeeep," she whines in a garbled rumble, feeling her mind waking up as her body cries out for rest.

The sound of nails on tile tells her Ritter's on the move, followed by the loud sound of his deep growling bark, telling whoever's knocking they are not welcome. Groaning, Sophie rubs her eyes, slowly dragging her tired body off the couch as she shuffles to the door.

"That's right, baby, you tell 'em who's boss," she encourages Ritter, patting him on the head as she looks through the spy hole in the door.

Jerking back, she blinks owlishly, feeling very awake. Staring at the door in disbelief she looks again. Pulling back with a muttered "What the hell?" she opens the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, bewildered. Using her knee, she blocks the small opening as Ritter tries to wiggle past her to get at the smiling face of Bruce Wayne.

"Hello," he says cheerfully, taking in the grumpy face giving him a death look underneath a riot of tangled bedhead. "Nice hair."

"Gee thanks, it's all the rage," Sophie deadpans, "How nice of you to come all this way to compliment my hair." A beat. "Or did you actually want something?"

"I wanted to talk with you again."

"Mission accomplished, we've talked, you can leave now," she says closing the door.

"Wait, Sophie," Bruce says reaching out.

Just as his fingers brush the wood it jerks open and Sophie glares at him suspiciously.

"How do you know where I live?"

"I have my ways," he says casually, smiling at her scowl.

"You do realize that knowing where I live when I never told you and stopping by when you weren't invited is more than a little creepy stalker-ish behavior?"

"If I was a creepy stalker would I have brought food?" Bruce says lifting up a bag.

A pause as an eyebrow rises, her stare unwavering.

"Uh…Alfred made it?" Bruce offers awkwardly.

Rolling her eyes, she sighs, stepping aside for him to enter.

"Alfred and Crystal better be right about you," she mutters closing the door.

"I went to the Purple Zebra to find you this morning and Crystal told me your address," he says, trying to placate her.

"She wouldn't have told you that, I never said it was okay," Sophie argues as she hangs his coat in a small broom closet by the door.

Unconcerned with her ire, Bruce waves a hand shooing away her protests.

"Yesterday you said I could look you up."

"I meant at the Purple Zebra," she says, exasperated, as she leads him into the living room.

"You didn't say that," he reminds her, pausing as Ritter blocks his way. Tensing as the dog gives a loud warning growl, Bruce mentally berates himself for forgetting the animal would be able to recognize him in and out of the suit.

"Ritter, puppy. Hey, he's okay," Sophie says soothingly, kneeling next to the German Shepard, cuddling and stroking. "Such a good boy you are. It's okay."

The growling fades to a low hum and Sophie holds out a hand to Bruce who takes it, slowly crouching down to the dog's level.

"This is Bruce Wayne," she says, shifting closer to him, showing the dog that he's safe. "See? He's okay. Bruce is my friend, you great big silly," Sophie assures the animal who thumps his tail at the familiar affection. "Bruce, this is Ritter."

"Hello, Ritter," Bruce says gently, extending a hand palm up for the dog to smell. Now, he would either lose his fingers or…

A heavy paw lands on his hand, claws digging in as Ritter gives a low "Woof," eyeing the man with tolerant suspicion.

Shaking the paw Bruce smiles skeptically, watching the dog with equal mistrust.

"Great," Sophie says, releasing Bruce's hand as she stands, "have a seat on the couch and I'll get some dishes. Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, a can of coke?"

"Water would be great," he replies setting the food on the coffee table as he looks around.

Across from the couch is a TV and playstation with various movies and games stacked on the shelves underneath. Next to the coffee table is a plush oversized chair, the fabric faded and worn around the edges showing years of use. Framed posters decorate the walls between bookshelves brimming with books, knickknacks, and pictures. Along the upper walls hang masks of varying shapes and styles. A mixture of beautiful and horrific faces in bright splashes of color looking down on the room, watching, from empty eyes. Inspiration for the Suicide King's unusual mask? Rolling his shoulders Bruce turns to the nearest bookshelf, brushing off the eerie feeling crawling along his skin. You can tell a lot about a person from their home.

He skims over the titles before his gaze drifts to the framed photos displayed in front of them. One catches his attention as Sophie, several years younger, lays sprawled across the overstuffed chair, face bright and carefree as she laughs. A man is squished beneath her, olive toned arms and legs wrapped snugly around her as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. _'Her husband,'_ Bruce decides, unable to make out the man's features through a wild riot of blond curls. A pang of sympathy strikes as he looks at how happy they were. It was the kind of joy he'd hoped to share with Rachel.

The sound of footsteps alerts him and he turns, taking her in, looking for the same signs of damage he carries. Her hair has been pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she either hasn't noticed or doesn't care that she's still in her pajamas. There's a subtle reserve to her body language, but friendship in her eyes. Still wary, but she's begun to thaw. Sophie sets the dishes on the coffee table and looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to sit before she reaches for the bag from Alfred.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today, Mr. Wayne?" she asks, dishing out the food. "Not to mention Alfred's delicious home cooking."

"I like spending time with you," he admits easily, smiling as she glances at him with raised eyebrows. "Honestly. It's nice to just be friends with a woman who isn't using me for my status or money."

"Crystal does that," Sophie points out handing him a plate.

"She's nicer to me than you are," Bruce says bluntly, pleased by her surprised burst of laughter. "I enjoy your loathing of me," he adds with a chuckle.

"Masochist."

"Only for you," he teases, grinning when she chokes on her water.

"Jesus," she sputters, "buy a girl dinner before you say things like that."

"I brought you lunch," he reminds her, as she looks at the food with something akin to betrayal.

"Okay, I'm just going to ignore all of that and start repressing this conversation."

"Don't worry, I'll remember for the both of us," he assures her.

Smirking at her dismayed expression, he tips his glass in salute. _'The more she focuses on our banter'_, he notes, _'the lower her defenses.'_ It doesn't hurt that he's also enjoying himself. Sophie's face, he realizes to his pleased advantage, is much more expressive than he could have hoped.

"You are such a creeper," Sophie accuses, ignoring his eye roll as she takes a bite of her sandwich. "Mmm, wow. Bruce would you be really angry if I married Alfred so he could cook for me every day?"

He gives her a look that says, '_Get real,'_ while internally smirking at her continued unconscious use of his first name, easily slipping into more familiar terms.

"Sorry, I don't think he's looking to get married."

She frowns with a hum, thinking for a moment before turning to him, hopeful.

"When you die would you leave him to me in your will?"

"I don't actually own Alfred," he says, giving her an odd look.

"I know," she pouts with a mock sigh, "but a girl can dream."

"You say I'm a creeper, but you're the one dreaming about my elderly butler," he points out, chuckling when she bursts out laughing.

"Oh God!" Sophie giggles, "That's so wrong. How am I ever going to be able to look at Alfred again?"

"You think you have it bad, I see him everyday and now that image is going to be stuck in my head."

"That's what you get for corrupting my poor innocent mind," she teases, wagging a finger at him.

"What innocent mind?" Bruce scoffs, lips curving in a smile as her eyes widen in surprise before narrowing in mock outrage.

"I see that the stories of your legendary charm were greatly exaggerated."

"No," he disagrees, shaking his head. "If anything my charm is talked down."

"Really? Sure you're not talking about your ego? Cause from what I've seen your charm is extremely lacking."

"That's because I haven't used it yet."

"Bull. You've been trying to charm me since we met."

"Believe me Sophie," Bruce purrs lowly with a slow grin, "when I decide to use charm, you'll know it."

She stares at him, eyebrows raised, as he leans back against the couch taking in her stunned silence with smug satisfaction.

"Was that it?" Sophie asks after a moment, unfazed.

"Not even close," he says, enjoying her look of skeptical suspicion.

"And people think I'm strange."

"You are strange."

"I really am," she agrees, catching him off guard as she wiggles her eyebrows, surprising a laugh out of him.

"You know why I like you Sophie?" Bruce asks after a moment.

"Well, it's obviously not my dazzling personality and wit."

"No, definitely not that," he agrees, winking when she gives him a sour look. "You're not interested in using me for my money or my name."

"There go my plans for a house in Hawaii," she laments with a gusty mock sigh.

"I'm serious," he tells her, knowing he needs to build trust to get information despite the unpleasant twist in his gut. "It's nice not having to worry about my legacy as a Wayne and being free to speak my mind. Love me or hate me, people treat me very well because it's to their advantage to be nice to Bruce Wayne. But, you're very open with your criticism. Either you're planning to catch my attention and use me," Sophie snorts in disdain, giving him a look that says _'get over yourself'_, "Or, you don't see my wealth and status as any reason to treat me differently from any other man."

"I'm not the only person who does that," she argues, "I know for a fact Crystal treats you like a normal person."

"She does," he agrees, "but you take real pleasure out of insulting me. At first, I wanted to meet you because I like your work, but now that I'm getting to know you I want to pursue our friendship because I had honestly had more fun arguing with you in the Purple Zebra then I've had in a long time."

"I enjoyed it too," Sophie admits, warming to the idea. "It's not often you find someone you can sling insults at who'll fire right back without things turning mean or feelings getting hurt." After a moment she says, "I'm sorry I misjudged you, Bruce. You're actually an intelligent person, despite the incredibly idiotic decisions you make that creates the terrible reputation you have."

"I think that was almost a compliment."

"You are such a dope," Sophie mutters, shaking her head in amusement.

"Ahhh, there's that refreshing sense of loathing," Bruce says with a smile.

Returning his smile, they stay like that for a time before Sophie lets out a small chuckle.

"Dear God," she says playfully, "We're having a moment."

Grinning, Bruce turns mock serious saying, "Let us never speak of this again."

Turning back to the forgotten food on the coffee table, Bruce glances at Sophie catching sight of a dark black and purple mark on her bicep. A knot twists in his stomach as he stares at the deep bruise marring her skin where Batman grabbed her. Sophie turns, about to offer fruit salad, when she pauses at the intent look on his face.

Looking down she notices the large bruise on her arm and blinks, surprised.

"Huh," she says softly, shifting her arm to get a better look. After a moment her gaze shifts to Bruce, back to the bruise, back to his pensive face. Oh. "Oh!" Sophie exclaims "Oh no, Bruce, no. It's not what you think. Batman did that."

'_That's the_ _problem'_, Bruce thinks to himself as Sophie scrambles to explain.

"He came into my apartment last night and grabbed me because, I'm pretty sure, he thought I was a burglar. I don't think he normally breaks into people's apartments in the middle of the night, but he wanted to question me about the Suicide King because he seems to think I'm involved and," a pause as her brain catches up with her mouth, "I probably sound like the biggest crazy lady right now."

"It's okay," he assures, smiling at the red tinge to her face, "I believe you."

"Really?" she asks, surprised.

"I grew up in Gotham," he shrugs, "I've seen some pretty strange things."

"Oh. Well…okay then. And don't worry about the bruise, it doesn't hurt. I don't think Batman meant to give it to me."

"Some guy dressed up like a giant bat breaks into your apartment and attacks you and you don't think he meant it," Bruce says skeptically, even though secretly he's agreeing with her.

"I don't think Batman is a bad man."

"Sophie, he's wanted for murdering five people. One of them was a cop. Another," Bruce says, stomach roiling in revulsion at the words leaving his mouth, "was the district attorney Harvey Dent."

"I've heard the rumors and watched the news Bruce. Believe me, my mother was very unhappy that I decided to move to Gotham and made sure I knew. But, I guess, I'm having trouble believing their true. Maybe that's foolish of me, but he could have really hurt me last night and he didn't. Besides," she says with a sigh, "I've seen bad men before, Bruce, and Batman is nothing like them."

"What happened?" he asks softly, thinking of what Gordon said about her family.

"I…lived in Gotham five years ago with my husband and…he was murdered."

"I'm sorry, Sophie," he says sincerely, reminded of Rachel.

They sit for a tense, aching moment, lost in their respective wounds

"Well," Sophie says clearing her throat. "We've laughed, we've cried, we even shared a moment and it isn't even noon. Maybe we should eat some lunch before a dam bursts or Timmy falls down a well."

* * *

After lunch, once the dishes are cleaned and put away, Bruce decides to broach the subject of the Suicide King.

Settling down on the sofa again with a, now dressed, Sophie he takes a sip of his water, asking, "You said Batman talked to you last night. What was that like?"

"Mostly? Terrifying," she says with a laugh, missing his wince. "When he grabbed me I thought my heart was going to burst it was beating so hard. But, once he let me go and there was some distance between us it wasn't so bad."

"Does he look as deformed as people say?" Bruce asks, feigning interest in tabloid rumors.

"I dunno, probably not. The only part of him that's exposed is his mouth and chin. It was a good chin," she decides after a moment.

"As opposed to a bad chin," he teases, ignoring her dirty look. "What did he want you for anyway?"

Sophie stares at him, judging if it's safe to trust him or not. Bruce waits patiently, not pressing for information, watching as her defenses slowly lower to guarded hesitation.

"You can't gossip about this Bruce, and if I find out you blabbed there will be very real, **legal**, consequences."

'_Such a perilous road to trust,'_ Bruce thinks as he tells her, "I understand."

"Batman had questions about the Suicide King."

Pretending to be confused, Bruce gives her a skeptical look, asking, "The character in your novel?"

Closing her eyes with a sigh, Sophie pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sort of," she mutters, "but not really."

"Then you must mean the serial killer that's been popping up in the news now and then. Is that what their calling him, the Suicide King?"

"Yeah, apparently he's killing people based on my book," she says, rubbing a hand against her face. "That hasn't been in the news. At least, not that I've seen. There's a lot the FBI seems to be covering up."

"Isn't that necessary? If all the details are released then any crackpot can claim to be the killer or have leads," he reasons, noting the dark rings under her eyes.

"Yeah, you're right," she says with a tired sigh. "I talked with Jim Gordon yesterday; he was more honest with me then the Feds. He warned me to be careful. If this guy is really obsessed with my book he could come after me. But, you know the funny part?" Sophie continues, bitterness creeping into her voice. "Gordon thought it was odd that the Feds didn't warn me I was in danger. He seemed to feel it was a gross breach in protocol and even the greenest of agents should have known better. So, he promised to send a car to patrol regularly, just in case."

Eyes hardening in anger Bruce grits his teeth, controlling the rage burning in his veins. That psychopath has killed scores of people in an obsessive parody of her novel, and the FBI Agent in charge of the case left her hanging as bait, knowing she'd probably die. Hands clenching into white knuckled fists Bruce breathes deep through his nose, willing the tension in his muscles to release. He hadn't noticed any surveillance watching her, but it would be a good idea to double-check. The lead agent could also use some investigation.

"Jim Gordon is a good man," Bruce says eventually, not quiet able to keep the anger out of his voice. "He'll do everything he can to protect you."

'_And so will I.'_

"Something else has been bugging me about the Suicide King. Gordon seems sure that he's going to come after me, and Batman seemed to agree. But, I'm careful to keep myself separate from my identity as S. Blue. You know first hand how hard it is to track me down, and you had better leads then most people should."

"You wonder how he'll be able to find you," Bruce says, mind racing.

"Exactly. Either the Suicide King knows me, or he's been in one of the few places where I'm acknowledged as S. Blue."

"Like your publisher's office or the book party," he supplies, already cataloging the people he saw at the party; making plans to find video surveillance and get a copy of the guest list.

"Right. It's possible this guy has no idea who I am or how to find me, short of, maybe, going through my publisher. I've always been very careful to keep my actual identity a secret."

"Why have you kept yourself so hidden?" Bruce asks, returning his focus to her.

Mouth curling in a humorless smile she says, "I write novels about serial killers and didn't want some crazed fan coming after me."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Sophie and all original characters.

"Rumour Has It" by Adele

Many thanks to my lovely beta Cansei de Ser Sexy. You pointed out things I didn't even think of.

Chapter Five

Rumour Has It

"I don't like this. We should take what we have and go" a boy in his late teens says nervously as he lifts a TV off a moving dolly.

Standing at the back of an unmarked moving truck on a late fall night he fidgets restlessly as a middle aged man in the back of the truck takes the television. The electronics loaded on the vehicle aren't top of the line, but the cash from selling the stolen goods would be more than either man has currently.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" the middle aged man huffs releasing a white puff of breath. "Why the hell are you so afraid?"

"You _**know**_ why I'm afraid, Frankie," the boy says, eyes darting. "_**He**_ could be out here."

"Shows what you know shit-fer-brains. Every cop in town's got a hard on for the Bat. No way he's dumb enough to show his face on the streets."

"Wouldja just think for a second. If he killed Harvey Dent, once of the good guys, whatta you think he's gonna do to us?"

Shaking his head the older man leans against the opening of the truck, arms crossed. "Fuck, are you stupid. The Bat," Frankie says ignoring the teen's shushing, "doesn't kill people. _**Everybody**_ knows that."

"You don't know that," the teen interrupts.

"Yeah, I do. I ran with Joker's crew before he got pinched and if there's one thing that freakin' psycho knows about, it's the damn Bat. Joker says Batman doesn't kill people. If Joker says it, I believe it."

"Joker's a freak who likes to mind fuck people before he screws 'em," the teen half-yells, lowering his tone with a grimace. "I bet _**He**_ kills people and Joker told you he doesn't so you'd get killed."

"Do you know how crazy you sound?" Frankie says exasperated. "I am never working with somebody from Scarecrow's old crew again. His shit has got you all messed up."

"Damn it! Batman kills people, I know it."

"So what? Who cares if Batman off'd Dent? That just means he's like us. An' if he is, he sure as hell ain't gonna stop us. Now shut the hell up and mover yer ass."

"But what if—" the teen protests only to be cut off.

"If you wanna get a cut of this, shut the hell up about the damn Bat."

Roughly grabbing another television out of the boy's hands Frankie turns into the truck, securing the TV further back.

"Damn kid telling me what to be afraid of," he mutters to himself. "I've been working the streets since he was in diapers."

Walking back to the end of the truck he finds the doll deserted. Mouth dropping open in astonishment he leans out of the truck, looking up and down the empty street. No sign of the younger man.

"That stupid punk," Frankie growls in disbelief.

Grumbling, he starts climbing out of the truck. Reaching out a hand to grip the side of the open doorway, Frankie teeters, carefully lowering a foot towards the ground. He might be young enough to clean out an electronics store, but he couldn't jump out of a truck like he used to. God, he missed the old days. A rattle behind him from inside the truck has him pausing, foot inches from the ground, looking over his shoulder into the darkness. Another rattle. A soft thump. What is that? A creak. Did a TV come lose? Sharp skittering movement. A rat maybe? Fishing a flashlight out of his pocket Frankie stands, tentatively stepping further into the truck as the light bursts to life.

Caught in the beam of the light is Frankie's partner, tied from chin to calf, lying helpless on the ground. The younger man stares at him with dazed fear glazed eyes. Heart faltering, Frankie gasps, before it gives a lurch thumping away at a staggering beat. Stumbling back he bumps into something hard and unmoving. Wheeling around Frankie's eyes widen as his jaw drops, the flashlight falling from his numb trembling fingers. Looming before him, seeming to absorb all light in the confined space, is the Batman.

"It's you," Frankie whispers as stars explode behind his eyes. Reeling back the copper tang of blood hits his tongue as two molars pull loose. Another sledge hammer punch slams into his gut and the teeth fly free in a shower of crimson saliva. One. Two. Three. Batman's rock solid fists catch Frankie's ribs, stomach, and head. Crumpling to the ground on his back, head throbbing thickly with pain, Frankie wheezes through a freshly broken nose. Rough hands roll him over, binding him tightly. Sirens wail around the corner as Frankie gurgles quietly, overcome by a wave of relief. Car doors slam, followed by low voices, and the buzz of police radios. Eyes swelling painfully he hear the teenager gasp, mouth finally free from the ropes.

"I told you," he says as Frankie groans.

* * *

"I don't like it."

"You don't like what?" Sophie asks, across town, wiping tables at the Purple Zebra. "Helping to clean after closing?"

At eleven at night the three people inside were almost finished cleaning up the closed bakery.

"No, that doesn't bother me," Zack, Crystal's fiancée, says as the mop in his hands gives a wet squelch across the floor. "I'm talking about the Bruce Wayne thing."

"What thing?" Crystal asks as both women stare at him in confusion.

"I don't know if it's a good thing for Sophie to get attached to him."

"Who said I'm attached?" Sophie blurts out.

"I thought you liked Bruce," Crystal says, frowning as she leans against the freshly cleaned counter.

"I _**do**_ like Bruce," Zack says with a sigh, "but he isn't the most reliable guy."

"Don't you think you're blowing things out of proportion?" Sophie asks, amused. "Bruce and I are barely even friends. We don't have a thing. And he's not someone I'm planning to rely on."

"Sophie, you and Bruce have seen each other every day for the past two weeks."

"No we haven't!" A pause. "Have we?"

Crystal shrugs as Sophie looks at her with eyebrows knit in confusion.

"He comes here everyday looking for you. If you're here you guys hang out, if you're not, from what you've told me, he shows up at your place around lunch or dinner."

"How did I not notice that?" Sophie asks, plopping down on the edge of a booth.

"He's your friend," Crystal tells her with a small smile. "With your focus split between writing, baking, and the news it makes sense that you don't really question what makes you happy."

"Yeah, but he's your friend too. It's not like Bruce only comes here for me," Sophie says laughing awkwardly, noticing her friends avoid eye contact. Suspicion growing she looks at Crystal for reassurance. "You're friends with him, that's why you encouraged me to give him a chance, right?"

"Right! Well, sort of," Crystal says guiltily, shrinking from her friend's glare. "Bruce is my boss, even though he's rarely at the lounge. We met after I'd been working there for a while when he hit on me. But," she hurries on as Zack and Sophie share matching scowls, "he backed off when I told him I have a boyfriend. Occasionally he comes in with a date, and he invited us to join him once when Zack came to pick me up."

"So, he's more a friendly acquaintance then an actual friend," Sophie accuses.

"I know him a lot better now that he's been coming in so often," Crystal assures. "If it makes you feel better, I've never had a bad feeling from Bruce. And Alfred has been coming here for years. How could Alfred raise a bad guy?"

"So far you seem to be right about Bruce," Sophie replies, grudgingly accepting her friend's judgment. "But, just because you're raised by a good person, doesn't mean you are one."

"That's why I'm worried," Zack interjects. "I'm glad you're happy, Soph, but I don't know if it's good for you to spend so much time with him."

"This is kind of unusual for you Zack."

"She's right," Crystal agrees. "I've never seen you this interested in Sophie's relationships before."

"Normally I'd stay out of it, and while I want you to be happy, I'm not sure Bruce Wayne is what's best for you. We've been friends for eleven years and I've never seen you as devastated as you were after…"Zack hesitates as her eyes show a deep hurt. Sighing, he gives her a sad affectionate smile. "Look, I may be stepping out of line, but I don't want to see you hurt. Bruce is a nice guy. He gives to charity and helps orphans. But, he's also kind of a flake. He uses women and pulls crazy stunts without any explanation."

"Okay," Sophie says, brightening at the new topic, "what sort of ridiculous gossip have you got for me? I've heard about the women from Dominic while attempting to convince me to have a fling with Bruce. And I heard he bought a hotel because he was swimming in décor. He also seems to own a lot of random places like restaurants and the lounge Crystal sings at. Besides womanizing and crazy whimsy spending, what else should I know?"

"He got drunk on his birthday a year ago, insulted all his rich buddies, and burnt down the family mansion," Zack says with a grin, sitting on a barstool next to Crystal.

"Honestly?" Sophie asks, surprised. "I thought that was an exaggeration."

"No," Crystal says sadly, "If Alfred hadn't have saved him, Bruce would be dead."

"That's crazy! Do you know why he got so drunk?"

"He'd just got back to Gotham after he was missing for years," Crystal replies. "I think it's hard for him to be here because of what happened to his parents."

"They were killed in front of him, right?" Sophie asks, heart aching in sympathy. "I remember my mom watching the story on the news."

"You got coverage of that in Michigan?" Zack asks, surprised.

"The world is too small for something like the murder of the Wayne's to go unnoticed."

"Bruce managed to hide from the world somehow," he replies. "After the guy who shot his parents died he disappeared. No trace of him anywhere."

"That's right. I was in Gotham for part that," Sophie says thinking back to her early days of college. "You couldn't do anything without seeing his face."

"Remember the group on campus who were convinced Bruce hired someone to kill that guy and that's why he went missing?" Crystal asks with a laugh.

"Oh, God, I remember that! They were spewing all this garbage," Sophie agrees, lowering her voice in imitation. "The rich have preferential treatment over the poor and that's why the police didn't arrest Bruce Wayne."

"Never mind the fact that the guy who did it was caught at the scene in the Courthouse with a bunch of witnesses," Zack adds, rolling his eyes.

The three laugh, remembering a carefree time of classes and budding romance before the true horror of murder touched their lives.

"Remember when Jack got in a conversation about government and philosophy with the president of that group?" Zack asks. "The poor guy was so confused by the end even he wasn't sure what to believe."

"Oh yeah," Sophie says, smiling at the memory of her late husband. "Jack was so friendly and smooth people would just believe anything he said."

"Like the time he convinced people he had leprosy when it was really the flu," Crystal reminds them, giggling. "Everyone was amazed by how good he looked when he described the skin lesions and other symptoms in vivid detail."

Another round of laughter.

"Only that man," Sophie chuckles. "Y'know, there were some people that were so convinced everything he said was a lie, that he would only tell them the truth."

"I knew it!" Zack bursts out indignantly sending the girls into a fit of laughter.

"Okay, back to business," Sophie says, a smile in her voice. "If I understand right, what you were trying to tell me is that Bruce is a good person, but he isn't reliable, has bad habits with women, and unresolved issues with his parent's death."

"Yes," Zack confirms with a nod.

"M'kay. Consider me fairly warned should I go insane and decide to date Bruce. Now, before we get off the topic of my love life for, preferably, a very long time, is there anything else I should know?"

Silence as her companions think.

"The Russian Ballet!" Zack announces suddenly. "He ran off with the entire Russian Ballet on a boat when they were supposed to be performing. Despite the inconvenience to other people looking forward to the show that had to work really hard and wait in line a long time to get tickets because they refused to sell them online."

"Uh…okay. He's an irresponsible womanizer that's inconsiderate when he does it in numbers. Gotcha," Sophie says carefully, wondering at Zack's detailed description.

Wincing sympathetically at her fuming fiancé Crystal softly tells her, "Zack was taking me to the ballet as an anniversary present the night Bruce left with the girls."

"I don't get how he can be so clueless and irresponsible towards other people," the dark haired man grumbles.

* * *

On the roof of the Major Crimes building Jim Gordon takes a sip of cheap city funded coffee, the scalding liquid holding back the October chill. Uneasy, he looks down at the bag by his feet. Inside is everything he has on the Sophia Cross cold case. Despite his unwavering trust in Batman, Gordon can't help but feel he's somehow betraying Sophie by laying out her wounds to the unforgiving Dark Knight. Shaking his head Gordon looks away from the bag, taking another swig of his coffee. After years on the job his stomach had developed an immunity to the highly acidic, terrible tasting, stuff just a step above paint thinner in flavor. A sputtering cough escapes him, tears in his eyes, as the hot liquid sears his throat. Another violent cough heaves through him, but his eyes never leave the dark figure an arms length away.

"Is that the information on Cross?" Batman asks, straight to the point.

"Yeah. Case notes, medical reports, pictures; everything I could find. And this," Gordon says a little hoarsely, holding up a file, "is a copy of what we have on the Suicide King."

"I think he was an officer or someone in law enforcement who was forced out," Batman rumbles taking the file and bag. "You should also check the employees of the publishing house Sophia Cross uses."

"I'll have my people start looking into that," Gordon says making a note in a handheld notebook. "I hear you left my boys a present tonight."

"Nothing that will help us," Batman replies, ignoring Gordon's chuckle.

"Every bit helps," the older man assures, sobering after a moment. "I had to talk with the Feds today. The Suicide King's two victims in Gotham were confirmed officially this morning. We're dealing with the same man who's been killing across the country. Crossing state lines makes it a Federal case and gives the FBI jurisdiction."

"There sending someone."

"He'll be here tomorrow," Gordon confirms bitterly, a sour expression on his face. No cop likes to have a case taken away, especially by the Feds. "You should be careful. The last thing you want is the Federal Government taking an interest in you."

Although Gordon has seen his stalwart friend in action and knows Batman is more capable than any other man, he can't help but worry. It's one thing to fight criminals knowing you're striking against the violent scum of the world, but it's something entirely different and more dangerous going up against cops. In a fight with the authorities Batman holds back, knowing he's up against good cops trying to protect innocent people. Gordon fears more than anything that Batman's mercy towards the police will be his downfall.

"I can handle it," Batman assures in a gravelly rumble.

Footsteps on stairs catch Gordon's attention. Whirling around, the door to the roof opens.

"They've found another one, Jim," detective Stephens huffs in an out of breath rush. "Another Suicide King victim at the Majestic Theater on Lexington and Third."

"Get a group together, we're heading out now," Gordon orders walking to the stairway from the roof. He doesn't bother looking back; Batman was gone before Stephens opened the door.

* * *

"The garbage is all that's left," Crystal cheerfully declares plopping on a stool at the counter. "Would you bring it to the dumpster, Honey?"

"Yeah, sure," Zack says shuffling into the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune.

Sighing, Sophie sinks gratefully onto a stool next to Crystal, both women silent as Zack's whistling disappears with the sound of the alley door closing.

"I'm worried about Batman," Crystal announces, turning to Sophie with concerned brown eyes. "I know you told me he didn't hurt you and it seems like everyone in Gotham has a different theory about him, but you need to be careful."

"I know. Believe me, it's creepy that he got into my home so easily," Sophie assures, voice weary. "People are claiming he killed cops and mob bosses, but nobody can prove any of it. I'm trying not to put a lot of value on rumors, despite our earlier conversation. I mean, some people think he's actually a giant man-bat thing like a werewolf."

"I don't believe rumors either," Crystal says. "But, I trust Jim Gordon and he's the one who saw Batman kill Harvey Dent."

Sophie freezes, eyes wide with surprise, before she shakes her head. "I heard he killed Dent, but I didn't know Gordon was the one saying it. He's a good cop and an honest one." She hesitates. "But, I just can't bring myself to believe it. I don't know why, but the question keeps coming to mind: Why would Batman let the Joker live only to kill Harvey Dent?"

* * *

The Majestic Theater on Lexington and Third is swirling with panicked people when Batman arrives. He's managed to beat the rest of the police, but the area is already sectioned off with yellow tape for a block radius in every direction. The two patrol cops that answered the initial call are busy trying to keep everyone corralled and calm in the crammed lobby. Jumping off the roof of the building next door Batman lands silently in the alley below, entering the theater unseen through a side door.

Had the Suicide King entered as a normal ticket buying patron or did he also sneak inside undetected? Checking that the coast is clear Batman inspects the top of the door. The alarm for the exit has been pulled free. Is it the work of a killer or delinquent kids? Quickly and carefully he dusts for prints, lifting a partial from the top of the alarm. Slipping the print into his utility belt Batman stalks across the theater, moving like a living shadow, to a figure slumped in a seat near the back.

A brunette man in his late twenties-early thirties occupies the seat. Head tipped forward his slit throat spills down the front of his shirt seasoning the tub of popcorn in his lap with a coppery tang. Resting atop the red splattered kernels is the next card: two of hearts. The blood stained card comes up clean for finger prints and the seats around and behind the man are empty of evidence. Whoever this latest victim is, he never realized what was happening. _'No defensive wounds,'_ Batman notes, checking the man's arms and legs. _'There wasn't enough time to look away,'_ he decides looking from the corpse to the blank screen. The cut to the throat is deep enough that the man would have bled out in seconds. Unable to scream. Unable to fight. Just enough time for fear. Once again the Suicide King strayed from the book's formulated path in a more daring public display.

Footsteps coming from the lobby and the whine of brakes outside fill the silent room. The patrol officer enters with the medical examiner just as the door to the alley clicks shut.


End file.
